Monday, June 29, 2015

There was a PIP, and there was Ate Guy, and Crimson too, on my Mule and on my back pocket, as we took off, me on AGT and Bulan on LDQ, in defense of climate action, this year in Paris and nothing else, as I down-hilled on a muddy track, and crashed for the second time in my MTB life, picked myself, user name and password intact.

The logic of PIP flowed, upped the power, to the second-to-the-last climb, spilled a little, but enough for the bike to stall, while Vee photographed that moment, and I wondered where Bulan and LDQ is.

Finally the end, where we started with boiled eggs and bananas, and concluded with boiled rice and peanuts, handed cardboard medals, and paper certificates too from the City Mayor, my former line manager, as with two others.

It must be the lasagna, and the shanghaied fish and bread, served before my induction, a haunting that lingered, in my wallet, in may tote bag, in my mug, and ignited recurring dreams on burn rates and traffic light codes , or maybe the TOIL of the next day, as we broke the trails of Villa Isla with OPAL swimming in my Pocari bottle.

FOOTNOTE: Except for the food, all photos were provided by Lorelie Vee Domingo.

Monday, June 15, 2015

Bonn, that small city along the Rhine, waxed hot and cold, and I, reinstated but reluctant, endured the rote of a "can do" breakfast at Hotel zum Lowen, a new walking experience along Von-Groote-Platz to Bad Godesberg Banhoff forcefully providing a semblance of comfort, although scared that the silent walking/running/standing/sitting mass in and out Lines No. 16 and 63 has become me, while the familiarity of the Maritim tugged at the heart with each dreaded stop at the Heussallee/Museumsmeile to another culinary torture from that inedible morass, disguised as food, pouring from the tin cans of the World Conference Center, and finally breaking free from it all with a sweet lunch and a dessert of an adaptation goal at Tulpenfeld, and then coming back to it all, almost masochistically, as hog wash for lunch, but at least in the company of old and new friends, and the anesthetic view of downtown Bonn from the 24th floor of the UN Campus.

I walked lot, pretending to be interested but not, the challenge and excitement of past SBs a mere footnote to what we were once, consoled that the house perched on the hill once again opened its door and pantry to us, propping sagging spirits with beer and wine, with cheese and chips, with the meat I grilled for two hours, with the stories that came and went, finally riding home alone in the bus, walking, throwing myself to the musty smell and warmness of a bed so wide in a cavernous room that is not very Bonn, resigned to the fate of the usual breakfast, the daily grind, the falseness of it all, and the rare sunny moments with former friends who are now family.

I did not leave Bonn.I fled from it, walked away with baggage in tow across the cobblestones of Marketplatz, handbag bursting with an assortment of German sausages, killing time with a curry wurst and left-over apple juice, taking the airport bus with six hours left to kill, exploring every level, every wing, every elevator shaft of the Cologne/Bonn Airport, a bomb scare, a piece of the Berlin Wall, an authentic German lunch of grilled blood sausage and mashed potatoes and a tall beer, a sundae at McDonalds, until it's time to leave Bonn, perhaps until another session, perhaps forever.

All in all, I logged 101,299 walking steps in Bonn, or 80.4 kilometers, or 10,129.9 steps/8.04 kilometers each day, the most of which is the 19,026 steps covering 19.7 kilometers the day I left, fled, and walked away from Bonn...